


Come Pick Me Up

by summerstorm



Category: Pretty Little Liars (TV)
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Episode Tag, F/M, bondage (held down)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-05
Updated: 2010-09-05
Packaged: 2017-10-11 18:04:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/115329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerstorm/pseuds/summerstorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Spencer's honest, she's honest straight on. She doesn't look around and she doesn't stare and she doesn't forget to step back and let him in.</p><p>Written for the "bondage (held down)" square on my kink-bingo card. Coda to The Perfect Storm, sort of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Pick Me Up

The storm doesn't end at once. It keeps going long after Spencer gets home, fizzling in and out in bouts, resisting a timely demise. Spencer expects it to let down before sunrise, but definitely not soon enough to let her sleep without any startles.

It's fine. She's not one of those people who hide under their covers when they hear a tiny ruffle of thunder. It'd go against the Hastings family name. But her mom left to meet someone from work after dinner, her dad's out of town, and the only person in the house apart from Spencer is Melissa, who's been doing an excellent job of acting like Spencer doesn't exist anyway, so it's basically like she's alone. And that's also fine.

It's just the lights flicker off a few times, and then they go out for five whole minutes, so Spencer feels compelled to call someone, just to do something. And then she feels compelled to ask that someone to come over.

This is when being scared of the weather would actually be a good excuse, but of course at this point the lights come back on and Spencer's forced to face the pathetically smitten look on her face that's reflected on the fridge.

"Is this a booty call?" Alex asks when he shows up, right after Spencer fails to say hello. He looks and sounds like it just occurred to him it might be. Not that it is, of course not. But it should have at least _crossed_ his mind, shouldn't it? It shouldn't be surprising or anything.

She hides the embarrassed shyness in her smirk and fills it with indignance instead. "In your dreams, Santiago."

*

Alex was _joking_ , but there's something in Spencer's mouth when she responds that makes the air and the idea feel a little heavier, and he knows he's not imagining that. When Spencer's honest, she's honest straight on. She doesn't look around and she doesn't stare and she doesn't forget to step back and let him in.

"Sorry," she says, drawing the door shut. "My head's still on the SAT—"

"We should take it off it," Alex suggests, shrugging off his jacket.

"—and the tornado warning and—do you want anything to drink? I could use a glass of water."

Spencer asks him to sit down while she scans the inside of the fridge like there are several types of water in there to choose from, which is probably exactly what she's doing. She stays on the other side of the kitchen island after getting a couple of glasses, and it's, well, awkward. And Alex has no idea why Spencer's acting the way she is, so the only way he can think of to break the discomfort is kissing her, which he can't do anyway without climbing the furniture or feeling like a creep who's cornering her, so. Stalemate. He's feeling kind of tense.

It's only after some small talk that she says, "You haven't seen my room yet, have you?" and Alex feels like he's allowed to breathe again.

"I think I'd remember that," he says.

Spencer frowns slightly. "You look surprised," she says, laughing, and next thing he knows she's halfway up the stairs and asking, out of sight, if he's ever planning to follow.

He wonders if he put the idea in her head or if he was right from the start.

Or if maybe he's just reading her wrong. It wouldn't be the first time. He's not bad at reading people, and she's not that hard to read, but he's dating her, and the thing about dating someone like Spencer Hastings is you can never let her feel like she's one step behind.

*

"Can you never stay still?" Alex says, and Spencer lets her head fall back on the pillow. She stretches her arms, crossing them up behind it and against the headboard.

"Sure." She thinks it sounds as calmer and cooler and more collected than she actually feels as she was going for. He still looks doubtful, so Spencer just watches him watch her until his neck starts looking lonely and she feels the need to reach for his shoulders and link her hands together behind it.

"Three seconds," says Alex. He ducks down to kiss her pretty much in the same breath anyway.

"Okay, not really," she admits, arching up into his body.

He's prying her hands off his skin when he says, "Can I make you?"

In all honesty, Spencer doesn't even register the words until her forearms are back on her pillow—this time crossing at the wrist, held in place by Alex's hand.

"You can try, I guess," she says, trying not struggle against his grip and failing. She doesn't want to get _away_ , exactly. It's just—it's second nature to try to be in control, metaphorically on top, she guesses. She's not pushing hard enough for it to work or for Alex to take it as a hint to back off. That's probably a good sign.

She doesn't freak out when his knees bend up at both sides of her hips and tighten around her thighs, either, which is an even better sign. She still wriggles a little, testing the extent to and ways in which she can move, and decides to stop when Alex's free hand comes down on her stomach. It takes that gentle weight, that obstacle, to make her realize she's breathing like she was drowning.

So much for not panicking.

Alex's eyes are comforting when they meet hers, at least, and once she manages to focus on her surroundings, he asks, "Do you want me to let go?"

Her next inhale is sharp, but it evens out quickly enough. His thumb is rubbing circles on her belly, right beneath the hem of her shirt, and she feels the anxiety dissipate into little streams of tension that stretch over her chest, down her thighs. It's mindnumbingly _nice_ , so much so that she goes ahead with the, "Yes," that was on her lips as soon as she heard the question. When the clasp on her wrists loosens a tiny, considering fraction, however, her arms immediately stiffen in an effort to maintain their position beyond the loss of external aid and she realizes how much she doesn't mean it.

"Yes?" Alex asks, and Spencer shakes her head.

"No," she spells out. "No. I mean. It's good. I can handle this."

"You sure about that?" he says, but her wrists already feel secure again, and she's certain the relief that rushes through her at that must be visible on her face.

"Yeah," says Spencer, "I just—I might tell you to back off a lot."

"I will," Alex says quickly. "I swear. This stops the second you say it does."

Spencer smiles. "That's not what I'm worried about—or, it is, but not the way you think. Uh, you know I'm kind of a control freak, right?" Alex just looks at her, mouth on the brink of a laugh. "Right. So maybe you shouldn't stop every time I imply I'm uncomfortable or even outright tell you to. It would sort of defeat the purpose."

"Well, we don't have to—"

"No, we should. I want to. But maybe we should have, like, a safeword."

"Is this really—" Alex begins. Spencer stares at him. "Okay. Like what?"

"Like a big word," says Spencer, and considers her options. "Like _grandiloquence_."

Alex laughs openly this time, a dry, brief burst of sound that seems to last longer as it echoes down his body and onto Spencer's. It kind of goes straight between her legs, which is a little embarrassing and a lot bizarre. In a pleasant way. She didn't know she could feel laughter like that.

When she pays attention again, he's saying, "Okay," and, "Are you _completely_ sure you won't say that by accident?" and Spencer's cheeks flush. Mostly because she can't hit him, which is her usual reaction when someone makes her feel embarrassed, but that's such a stupid thing to feel self-conscious about, god.

"Shut up. It was on the last flashcard I put away this morning."

"The flashcards have spoken," Alex says, mock-solemn, and Spencer notes the light pressing motion of his hips before all the words are out, like he's hoping if he pretends he's less turned on than he actually is, his body will eventually believe it.

Spencer likes that. She likes that almost as much as she enjoys the current of air over her chest when Alex arches over her and his hand on her stomach disappears, or the way the hold on her wrists and legs feels even less breakable now. It's mildly worrying.

He brushes a strand of hair off her forehead, leaning down to kiss her jaw, and says, "How do you feel?"

"Exposed," she chokes out, shivering as the side of his fingers trails down the strap of her top, over the swell of her breast. Exposed is a good word for it, for the way Spencer feels when Alex tugs the fabric down, baring her chest, chasing it with his palm for a few seconds before taking his hand away. Spencer reaches down to cover herself, struggling even after she remembers she can't, even after he rubs the pad of his thumb over her nipple, even after he yanks her top over her shoulders and works it off her arms without once making her feel like she could wriggle out of his grasp.

Exposed is a great word for it. Spencer's not sure when it took on positive connotations, but she feels utterly aware of everything, reacting to it instead of dodging it—because she can't, because she's made herself responsible for that and suddenly the idea of stopping holds more dreadful weight than the idea of lying about how much she's enjoying this.

She wonders if this is how normal people feel about all the things Spencer's convinced she shouldn't want.

*

"You're never going to stop shifting, are you?" Alex says, prying his eyes away from Spencer's chest to look her in the eye. It's a lot more difficult than he'd anticipated. The whole point of this thing was to stop Spencer from moving, but even held down, she's constantly squirming. He's not necessarily _surprised_ , but he is kind of baffled Spencer, who must've known she was like this beforehand, has willingly gotten herself into a position where squirming is her default response to _everything_.

"I don't think so."

It's also—well, he's not holding her entire body in place, so squirming mostly translates into Spencer's back arching up and her tits sort of bouncing and tempting him pretty much non-stop. It's kind of inordinately distracting.

"Great," he says, because it really, really is, and unbuttons her pants, and presses his palm to his lower belly. "This okay?"

Spencer chuckles in this low, strangled way, full of pretend resignation and something else, something harder to make out—something pleased and anticipating and anxious all at once. Her face betrays none of it, not then and not when she makes a show of stretching her lips into an 'o,' glancing down as if to direct his attention to her mouth, before saying, "See any big words coming out?"

He doesn't, but he suddenly has a distinct vision of something else entirely. He was really trying not to get hard while pressed down against Spencer like this, while it would be so obvious and probably counterproductive, and that image does him no favors at all.

Not that he was exactly succeeding before, because, well, Spencer's half-naked and writhing under him, and he's not _dead_.

"You're staring," Spencer says with a lopsided smirk.

"I'm trying not to mess up," he says, moving the hand on her belly up the expanse of skin beneath him, allowing himself to touch and stroke and squeeze her breasts, then leaning down to kiss her, open-mouthed, as his fingertips slip in past the waistband of her panties.

Spencer surges up into the kiss, all tongue and closed lids and irregular rhythm, like a scheme expressly designed to distract him, but it's all the same situation, the same moment: Spencer's mouth and her hair nearly catching on his watch and her lungs filling and releasing bursts of air and her arching back and his hand squeezed in between her legs.

It's a tight angle, and he's starting to feel the strain on his shoulder from keeping his arm outstretched. He kneels up to give himself more room to maneuver, and in the process drags Spencer's arms to her sides, lined up so her hands stay still between the outside of her thighs and his knees. He kisses her through it; his lips shift down to her jaw and her neck and, when he's settled, he mouths at her collarbone and nips his way down to each of her nipples, brushing his teeth around them and soothing them away with his tongue and the hand that was holding her arms down on the pillow.

Her hips jerk a little, bringing his hand lower. When he looks up, Spencer's biting her lip, definitely willing and ready, and he keeps his eyes on her face as he drags his hand into her underwear.

He feels her out first, the soft hair and warmth and the way he can feel her belly heave under his wrist, and the dampness on his fingers even before he touches her, radiating off her skin. He takes a long, entirely selfish look at her before he does anything: her shoulders roll forward a fraction, like she's trying to hide, and as they relax she presses up against his wrist and it's all he can do not to give into himself, all he can do to stay where he is and keep the pressure of his body on and around hers steady.

He traces the outline of Spencer's chest with a finger, starting at the juncture of her neck and ghosting along the contour of her breasts. He listens to her breath hitch when his hand shifts even just the smallest bit away, like being under his gaze makes her less uneasy when he's also touching her. He wonders if it's a byproduct of her position, if she didn't take the being-naked-in-front-of-somebody-else portion of having sex into account when she invited him up and that's why her responses to that in particular are heightened, or if this is just something she likes, no explanation necessary.

"Voyeur," she accuses him. He cups her breast, massaging slowly for a few seconds before tearing his hand away. When she gasps, Alex takes advantage of the deflection to slip a finger into her slickness.

It's a little overwhelming, having Spencer laid out like this. If he didn't want her to stay still until he makes her come, he'd undress her entirely, stand back and take her in with his eyes until she's a quivering mess and take her in with his mouth until she's tugging at his hair to direct him.

For now, he raises an amused eyebrow at the way her thighs twitch every time their eyes meet, tight around his hand. He should give her some wiggle room to open her legs, to give _him_ more room to move, but there's something about the way Spencer's shoulders accommodate the motion of her back that makes him want to get her off just like this, using her wetness to ease his moves, to rub his fingers steadily over one single spot, and watching her.

He's not sure why he ends up asking if she needs anything else, if she thinks he can get her off like this: it's not like he's doubting himself, but it's not like he's all that comfortable voicing this kind of thing either, or like he expects her to react to it in any particular way. But it's completely, completely worth it for the way she grits out, "No," and follows it up with a yelp and her head thrashing back on the pillow, neck exposed and chest rising as she orgasms.

It's not only absolutely beautiful, but the contrast between her squirming even while held down and this Spencer, coming down from a high and _relaxing_ , is just about the hottest thing he's seen in his life.

And then she regains control of her motor functions and rolls them over, pushing all her hair into a long curtain to one side of her face to whisper in his ear as she opens his jeans, and he thinks, actually, maybe _that_ is.


End file.
